Break
by desolus
Summary: Dilandau has a rough night... and things just keep getting worse. Character peice. Note the rating. Complete, at the moment.
1. one

**Title: **Break  
**Rating:** R  
**Genres: **Drama  
**Warnings:** Het. **Lemon** in Pt-1. Mild profanity. Implicit shonen-ai. Violence. Mentions of **NCS**, associated with Underage.  
**Pairings:** Dilandau xOFC, Dragonslayers/Dilandau, others TBA(?)

**Etc:** Character piece. Intimacy? Want? Need?

This fic centres on Dilandau's uses for other people (yes, it says _uses_. Dilandau claims he's above relationships). Heavy **emphasis** on his relations with the Dragonslayers.

I don't know how the hell the OFC thing happened either. I _hate_ OFCs, but not to worry it's _very_ brief. Maybe I was smoking crack that day or something. -.-? It was supposed to be a reference to that brief encounter with Hitomi in Allen's forte, if you're curious.

I also think I made Dilandau too sane. So... OOC?

* * *

**Part 1**

She herself was a suffocating heat. Her touch could've easily been mistaken for a waning flame against my naked shoulder. Her dark honey-coloured hand was an exotic contrast against my colourless skin, as if the sun were reaching to touch the moon. Her caress didn't incite my passion or desire. Indeed, I felt cold and hollow. I watched her with a detached sense of fascination, though the sight of her above me vaguely sickened me.

The girl had straddled me and seemed satisfied there, rocking her bare hips back and forth rhythmically, slowly but enough to sustain arousal, at my request. She was an obedient creature. With light hair and lime-green eyes she was neither particularly beautiful nor plain. The play of shadows hid her modesty as the candle on the far side of the room flickered from a draft somewhere in the dusky room. Her hands carefully traced a few dark bruises that marred my upper torso with clinical indifference, prodding but gentle. Her concern was brief but present. Finally, she leaned down and licked my bruised shoulder mock-consolingly, before deliberately pressing her mouth hard enough on it for me to wince at the fleeting pain it brought.

She nipped at my ear. "My lord," she whispered before drawing her rouge-painted mouth away. "These aren't from another girl, are they?"

"Shut up," I managed to hiss. I was unable to focus on anything more than that burning, mounting tension I could feel coiling in my groin. I gripped her frail hips and forced myself deeper into that gathering fire inside her. It was so _close_ but it could never be perfect, it would never be enough because she simply wasn't what I wanted.

Not yet, not yet…

"Faster," I whispered, voice deepening and breathe quickening despite my iron self-control. "Now!" I demanded hoarsely before this physical encounter could go any further. Despite my obscure threat, I knew I could not stop even if I tried. She knew this but she was submissive and much too eager to please to ignore a blatant request. Her nature was to serve and satisfy… and that seemed completely amiss.

"Di—Dilandau-sama," her voice had lightened somehow, becoming breathless and resonant, cheeks darkening with a flush brought on by pleasure, or pain, or both. It did not matter.

I closed my eyes. It's enough, I thought distractedly. My mind was on the verge of losing logical thought altogether, even if only for a short moment. I opened my eyes and felt a shock run through my body, a feeling so electric and powerful that I could do nothing but revel in the sensation of mind-numbing euphoria.

Her hair was just the right shade, eyes darkening visibly with ardent feeling—_almost, almost, so close to a mirror image, that girl_—and her skin had lightened to that pale honey-coloured skin I so desired to touch, to know as well as I knew my own body. I brought my hand up to touch that slender neck, feeling the vein throbbing with blood, intense and full of life.

She threw her head back, revealing her waist length hair, and the illusion was forever shattered. Perhaps I had deluded myself long enough. I felt the coldness and hollowness return to me slowly. I stared at the stranger on top of me and felt immediate repulsion at the act we had just shared.

"You're such a waste of time," I told her. "Why do I even bother?"

She smirked at me, not at all upset by my remark. "And even so, you pay me these little visits even more frequently than usual."

"You bore me," I toyed with her dangling earrings, nothing more than cheap glass-jewels glinting in the candlelight. Her perfume, I noticed absently, was made up of mixed fragrances that I couldn't identify—although I was reminded of sex and flowers. It was neither pleasant nor distasteful, just an odd combination of both. My finger mapped out a route to her abundant breast from her neck. Her skin was unbearably soft, curved… touchable. My hand froze the moment I realised what I was doing. I wasn't one to touch lingeringly, even if it was in a clinical sort of fascination, unless it is to kill, punish, or fuck. It was just easier and more efficient to keep myself apart from that kind of emotional wastage.

I felt as if I would drown if I remained here much longer. I disengaged myself from her and pushed her roughly away from me. She fell back on the twisted bed sheets and laughed, as I straightened my dishevelled hair by running my fingers through it.

"How much?" I asked indifferently, already moving to the edge of the bed to dress. I used the corner of the bed sheet to clean myself with efficient wipes. My uniform had been neatly hung on the back of a wooden chair to avoid any kind of stains or wrinkles brought on by my… indulgence. Her dress had been cast carelessly aside, where it seemed but a pile of dirty rags. I all but tore it off her. Possession had been everything in the beginning, as it usually began, before pleasure overrode the need for control. I couldn't do these things with a nobleman's daughter or that strange girl as I did with this whore; she had proved a useful distraction but a complete waste of money and time. I was certain of that.

"The usual amount, my lord," she stretched languidly over the bed as she yawned, reminding me of a filthy brown cat I saw on my way here. "May I ask why you are in a rush tonight?"

"Be satisfied with this," I threw her a couple of coins from my purse. "I wish to bathe," I answered, casting a cold glance at her. "I'd rather not smell like you."

I dressed quickly, unembarrassed by my nudity. It was a standard uniform for social engagements, which was nothing but a frivolous costume I wore at times as to be nothing more than a decorative ornament on display for the enjoyment of nobles. A rapier had also come with the uniform, but it was little more than shiny stick that was unbalanced and encrusted with jewels. While I conceded that the rapier was aesthetically pleasing, I refused to strap such an impractical extravagance anywhere near my hip. My Dragonslayers had followed my example when I strapped on a true sword instead—one that had taken lives and experienced battle.

I fastened on my sword, straightened my uniform, and put on my diadem. A calculating glance towards a half visible mirror in the corner told me that my appearance was flawless. The high collar hid any bruises that might have been as noticeable as priest in a brothel, especially since my skin is so fair. My hair was rather limp from sweat, but otherwise it looked acceptable. I pulled on my gloves, moving towards the door.

"Will you come for me again?" she asked from behind me, her voice held no fondness or any inclination of that kind. I didn't find any cause to stop to glare at her when I answered, to wilt any growing regard. If there must be a reason to grant her my respect, it would be for her ability to emotionally and physically detach herself as a human being when she did her job. If I had soldiers like that, this war would already be over.

"No," I replied emotionlessly—the voice of a man having done what he needed to do, seeing no other purpose for his remaining there.

I left, hoping that I had not lied.


	2. two

**Title:** Break  
**Rating:** R  
**Genres: **Drama  
**Warnings:**Mild profanity. Implicit shonen-ai. Violence.Mentions of **NCS**, associated with Underage.  
**Pairings:** Dragonslayers/Dilandau, others TBA(?)

**Etc:** Character piece. Enter the Dragonslayers and one pissed-off Dilandau-sama. :)

For information on and pictures of Ryuon and Kagero, check out:  
_- prettyboy from hell_ (www-airandangels-com/dilandau)  
_- Tenkuu no Ryuugekitai_ (www-foxesden-net/slayerlair)  
They were background soldiers in the series, probably not Dragonslayers, but I've taken creative liberty to assume that they are. Viole won't appear here, because I'm not even sure who he is. :(

* * *

**Part 2**

I returned downstairs to the tavern, schooling my expression to nonchalance. I stopped underneath the doorway, instinctively sweeping the sizeable room for any sign of my boys. There were times when I believed I couldn't leave them out of my sight for extended periods of time without at least one of them getting into trouble.

Gatti, Kagero, and Miguel were the easiest to notice. They were sitting beside the bar with their backs facing the wall, obviously having had a few rounds of mead with the several tankards that littered their table. Gatti and Kagero appeared to be having a disagreement, probably concerning some aspect of the war or their guymelefs. I didn't think either of them knew how to talk about anything else, although I doubted it would be as interesting as seeing how long I could stay awake while listening in on one of their conversations.

Miguel was quiet beside them, eyes seemingly inattentive, although I was more than certain that he was keeping track of every movement that could be defined as 'hostile' in the tavern. His hand was lightly circled around a cup he probably hadn't even drunk out of, which was unsurprising. He was just too paranoid to even relinquish an ounce of control. Miguel was perhaps the most unsociable man on the face of this planet, yet I found no reason for him to be. He was uncomfortable in the elitist social gatherings where he was respected, disliked the massive crowds of the cities, and would rather go through a dozen guymelef training runs than flirt with any of the women who displayed interest in him.

There was a rather noticeable distance between their table and the civilians who were hovering a few feet away as though awaiting an invitation. They wouldn't get one. It wasn't surprising, actually, since none of the three had much regard for civilians. Whether or not that was my influence remains to be seen, but it was a likely assumption.

The others were strewn about.

I noted that Shesta was at the bar, appearing to be discussing something with a handsome young man. Now Shesta was perhaps Miguel's opposite. Where Miguel was distant and lacked any sort of charisma, Shesta possessed a natural magnetism with his easy laugh and amiable personality. It would probably seem strange to other people that I handpicked (as I did all the others) Shesta to be a part of my elite unit, and although he wasn't as remarkable at the sword as Gatti, or a guymelef pilot as Miguel, Shesta had more balls than any of them put together. He was an integral part of the unit, because he was the only one who would stand up to me for the sake of orders. Otherwise I would have been fucked by court-martials ten times over. The pushy little bastard kept my record spotless, or tried to, at least, and while I resented his unacceptable behaviour at times, I conceded (to myself, that is) on more than one occasion that he kept my military image intact in front of the Emperor and his generals.

Ryuon, of course, was a civilian table far to my right—mostly consisting of women, which would have been an odd sight for Ryoun to be without. He had his own little following among the noblewomen and their daughters, having a charm that seems to spring out of nowhere when he's among the opposite sex, but nowhere near as impressive as mine. His hair was a mound of dark curls atop his head, giving him a rather youthful appearance. Along with his rakish good looks and easy grins, he was a natural magnet. Yet beneath all that charisma was the embodiment of steel, Ryoun could kill without even batting an eyelid or breaking a smile.

I couldn't pinpoint Dalet or Guimel anywhere, which immediately made me uneasy. Guimel couldn't stay out of trouble to save his life, much less make an effort. Dalet would undoubtedly be with him, seeing as how they've been thick as thieves lately. With a rather stiff stride, I made my way over to where Miguel, Gatti, and Kagero sat, casting a sharp glance over at the bar when Shesta became aware of my presence. He understood immediately, dismissing the man he was talking to with some friendly goodbye, hurrying over to oblige my silent command. Ryuon had already seen my arrival and was disengaging himself from his choice of company, preferring to be polite and gentlemanly instead of rudely dismissing them as Shesta had with his friend. Gods, I was going to give Ryuon a good smack on the head one day.

Miguel was instantly on guard when he saw me, nudging Kagero's ankle discreetly with his foot beneath the table. _Ah, a heads up, is it Miguel?_ I thought coldly. _Fine, I'll let that go, after all, I taught you to keep your team mates backs._ Gatti and Kagero instantly shut up when they looked up to see me approaching, probably picking up the tension on my shoulders since my face was about as expressive as a rock.

"Where are Guimel and Dalet?" I gritted out once I was standing in front of their table, trying to keep my voice neutral.

There was a collective pause. That did not help to improve my mood.

Gatti finally answered with some hesitation, after casting an uneasy glance with Kagero. "They went upstairs a few moments after you did, sir."

I glared at Gatti, who visibly wilted under my look. "Shesta," I snapped, not releasing my second from my gaze.

"Sir?" he responded quickly, instantly at my side with the look of a soldier awaiting an order. I swear Shesta was only one who understood the variations of my tones.

"Find Dalet and Guimel," I instructed coldly. "If they aren't on the ground floor within two miets, they are as good as dead tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir!" Shesta was gone.

Ryuon appeared, an eyebrow lifted but remained, as always, unquestioning. He lowered his eyes respectfully. "Sir," he greeted quietly, sensing my fury.

I finally turned my head to glance at Kagero and Miguel, who took a lesson from Ryuon, and had calmly averted their eyes as not to provoke me, which was a wise decision on both their parts. I wasn't in the mood to deal with them at the moment, not when there were two other little shits inconveniencing themselves at my expense. I turned back to Gatti, who had probably already deduced why I was apparently so pissed off at him for. Gatti, if anything, had always been quick.

"You realise why I'm angry," I said in my most calm, rational voice.

He swallowed, not quite meeting my eyes. "Yes, Master Dilandau."

"Good," I smiled so normally that it was practically venomous. "Then why don't you fucking explain to me why you let Guimel and Dalet go upstairs when I told you to keep them strictly within earshot."

He shrugged.

He _shrugged_. That was the single most _disrespectful_, most _impertinent_ thing he could have done, something that I would not have expected from a soldier in my unit. My fist clenched and unclenched, which he seemed to notice for he became very still.

I planted my hands on the table, leaning over to glower at him. "You be thankful that I'm not in the mood to deal with anyone but Guimel and Dalet tonight, you little insolent shit. Don't mistake this for mercy. You won't be so thankful when I thrash you tomorrow, as to not forget who the fuck I am to you."

Gatti bobbed his head uncertainly, avoiding looking directly at me. "Yes, Master Dilandau. I apologize, but I will suffer your punishment for my disrespect."

I leaned back, satisfied for the moment but wanting to play it out a little longer. "You 'will' suffer my punishment?" I asked mockingly, enjoying the sudden stiffness that appeared along his shoulders. "Since when I have I ever given any of you incompetents a _choice_?"

For a moment, it looked as though Gatti was in danger of swallowing his tongue.

If it had not been for Shesta, I had little doubt that Gatti would have hanged himself in front of me by saying more ridiculous things. It would have been an amusing display, so I was briefly annoyed at the blond. I didn't wish to take it out on Shesta, as he had carried out my orders quickly, so I let the subject drop the moment he reappeared at my side, giving Gatti the illusion of safety. _Tomorrow_, I thought, giving Shesta a brief nod to indicate he could speak.

Shesta looked rather flushed and anxious, now that I was paying closer attention. "Master Dilandau," he said urgently, leaning in to whisper the words I didn't want to hear at all. "We have a situation upstairs."

Fanfuckingtastic. "Who did they kill this time?" I asked in an irritated tone, meaning for it to be a scornful joke, since I didn't think Guimel or Dalet were _that_ stupid as to—

The look on Shesta's face gave everything away.

Well, fuck me.


	3. three

**Title: **Break  
**Rating:** R  
**Genres:** Drama  
**Warnings:** Implicit shonen-ai. Mild profanity. Violence. Mentions of **NCS**, associated with Underage.  
**Pairings:** Dragonslayers/Dilandau, undertones of Miguel/Dalet

**Etc:** Character peice. Loyalty. Trust. Dilandau demonstrates his hold over his Dragonslayers (and their hold over him).

The **NCS** warning comes into effect in this chapter.

For the record, I suck at dialogue. One day, I will properly edit. One _painful _day.

* * *

**Part 3**

There was a dead man on the floor.

There _was_ a _dead man_ on the _floor_.

The near hysterical laughter I felt bubbling inside me died when I saw the sword. It had an emblem on it.

Only nobles had swords with emblems on them.

It was suddenly, in one clear moment, that I had an epiphany: I realised I was the leader of a pack of idiots.

Guimel had been cleaning off his blade with a blanket in slow, methodical movements. Something about his tense but impassive posture made me feel... apprehensive, I suppose. Dalet was leaning against the windowsill having a cigarette, arms loosely folded across his chest, eyes unusually blank as he regarded the body dispassionately.

The light was dim, music loud downstairs, and they probably had too much to drink, so my arrival wasn't noticed. In seconds, I realised that something was wrong-- aside from the body, that was incidental-- but from reading their body language I could tell that they were... not themselves. Was it the mead? Were they high on opium again?! No... Dalet's eyes were too clear for that. I observed them a moment longer, wondering how two highly trained Dragonslayers could be so disconnected as to let someone sneak up on them like this.

Of course, Shesta _had_ to cough discreetly, ruining any chance I had to study their postures further. Their reactions were immediate. Guimel sheathed his blade so quickly that I was surprised he didn't accidentally stab himself in the leg, and Dalet hastily threw his cigarette out the window as he sprang to his feet.

To hell with subtly then, I'll find out the direct way.

"Master Dilandau," they greeted at the same time, voices flat.

Their faces were masks, and perhaps to the observation of others it would have seemed that they feared little, but I had seen them at their basest emotions so their masks were lost on me.

Again, it struck me that their stances were all wrong; their forms were too stiff, eyes too vacant.

There's no adrenaline, I thought with sudden clarity. I knew how my Slayers acted to deal with the effects of adrenaline before and after each mission, Guimel and Dalet were loud and vivacious, not aloof and tense like Miguel or Gatti, or edgy like Shesta, or unruffled like the battle veterans Ryuon or Kagero.

I glanced down briefly at the body.

"A nobleman," the words felt tasteless in my mouth, even as cold fury slowly crept up my spine. "A nobleman! Do you twits have any idea--?"

I made the mistake of properly looking at the insignia on the sword. It was like a garland, circular in design, thick lines carved into the very hilt, and happened to be shockingly familiar.

The barrage of thoughts caught me short.

The Ashland House. The sons of Ashland served directly under the Emperor's Generals.

I couldn't protect them from the wrath of Ashland. Even the Emperor knew better than to dismiss his most loyal subjects.

"Ashland," I said, fury suddenly washed away by a numbness I couldn't begin to explain.

Guimel and Dalet flinched ever so slightly, but nothing seemed forthcoming. Guimel lowered his eyes, blue eyes unnaturally intense, while Dalet glared at some unknown point behind me, jaw set in such a way that told me it would take the Sorcerers themselves to make him talk.

Why, though? What was wrong with this scene? What would provoke them so that they would kill a nobleman?

That's when I heard it.

A whimper.

I glanced down at the body, startled, wondering if he was still alive and if I had to finish what those two idiots started. There was no point in killing halfway, especially not a son of Ashland.

I blinked, surprised but somehow pleased when the nobleman didn't move. Of course he wouldn't still be alive. Guimel was as efficient at killing with one clean stroke as Gatti was. The thought was laced with pride.

There, I listened. A moan, softer, but loud in the silence of the room.

I saw Dalet's jaw tighten, but there was no other reaction. His self-control was too tight, but Guimel's was not. Guimel's hands curled into fists at his sides, shoulders tensing. He glared down at the body in such a way that it was surprising that the body didn't spontaneously combust.

I found them to be interesting reactions and nodded to Gatti. "Find what's making that noise," I told him.

"Hai," Gatti, businesslike in demeanour, moved along the side of the room, hand on the hilt of his sword.

I stared stonily at Guimel and Dalet, silently daring them to move and give themselves away. To their credit, they did nothing, although their bodies grew rigid.

A small noise.

Gatti's head snapped to the direction, and in long strides he headed towards a dark corner of the room. He jerked something small from behind the armoire, throwing it to the ground in front of him for all of us to see.

It was small and round, curled in a protective little ball. It was whimpering faintly. It took me a moment to realise what I was staring at. It was a young girl, no older than ten, maybe, judging by her diminutive size, and streaks of red hair veiling her face.

I blinked. "Who the hell is this?"

There was a momentary silence, everyone turning to Dalet and Guimel for clarification.

"The noble was a pedophile, sir," Shesta explained somewhere behind me, seeing as how neither Guimel nor Dalet would speak. "They found him raping her."

The girl moaned wordlessly from her place, pathetically feeble, as if the words were swords wounding her.

The air seemed to change, deforming the situation.

Guimel lowered his eyes, the blazing fire there doused. His hands trembled but were abruptly stilled. Dalet let a glimmer of loathing show through his eyes before it disappeared behind the ice of his frozen eyes.

The others were motionless, mute.

I turned back to the girl.

Streaks of auburn hair, bruises along the pale arms and legs, and dark patches on her torn dress, which I belatedly realised was blood. Gods, a _child_.

"Dada," the girl whimpered. "Mama..."

"Shesta," I said quietly, unwilling to feel anything because I already knew of her fate. Rage couldn't help here.

He looked up, waiting for an order.

"Get the girl out of here," I waved vaguely at the unsoiled blankets, knowing he would understand. "Use the way back. Wait there with the girl. Have no one see you."

Shesta nodded, taking one of the blankets where the young girl had only recently been violated on, and listened to him murmur to her reassuringly. She didn't respond to him. It didn't take long to realise she was broken, in shock and disconnected from reality. I had seen a few others the way she was now, soldiers who couldn't handle blood and carnage. I had always despised them, but she was only a child.

_Weren't we only children when we began training? Aren't we children still?_ I pushed the uncomfortable thoughts away.

We watched him as he gently wrapped the blanket around her, watched as he lifted her in his arms, watched him wince when she cried out and clawed at him, in pain and afraid. No one moved to help him. He calmed her with a few words, "I'll take you to your dada." When she subsided after a few sobs, Shesta took her away, disappearing down the hallway in opposite direction of the bar.

Once they were gone, I steeled myself for the next step of the strategy already fully formed in my head. There was no other way. I expected that Dalet and Guimel would understand the reasons, but somewhere knew they wouldn't.

They weren't like Miguel or Gatti.

I turned to the two in question, feeling their uncertainty despite that their faces were like stone.

"I suppose you consider yourselves heroes now," I said evenly, though my insides felt like they were being compressed. "It won't last long."

I didn't want to look at them when I issued the orders to execute my plan. I turned before I could see their expressions.

"Kagero, Ryuon," I gave the body a savage kick. "Remove this revolting thing from my sight. Throw him out in some alleyway. Remove anything that might be valuable so the authorities will think he was robbed. Be discreet, I don't want this mess being connected to us."

They made confirmatory sounds, moving together to deal with the body. They buttoned his rumpled clothing first, heaving him up by his arms and legs. There was a pool of blood on the floor where he had lain.

"Gatti."

"Sir?"

"Have the stable master prepare the horses. We will be returning to the base shortly. Take your horse and Miguel's to the back of this shithole."

He acknowledged my order, unquestioning, and faded in the darkness of the hallways silently, save for the sound of his boots scraping across the floor. I watched him go, feeling strangely cold. I didn't know what to make of it, so I pushed it away.

I turned to issue my final command. I found Miguel staring intently at Dalet, who avoided the gaze with a certain disregard that I couldn't readily identify. There was some private significance about the look that eluded me.

I mentally shook myself. It didn't concern me.

"Miguel," I said firmly.

He looked up at me, face perfectly unchanged but he didn't look at me the same way as he had Dalet. I found that strange and I didn't like it.

"Listen closely," I said with a steel edge, indicating that it was imperative he do exactly as I said. "There's a channel we passed when we rode here. Do you remember it?"

"Of course, sir. It's less than a quarter of a mile off the main road."

I nodded. "Gatti will be at the back with Shesta, waiting with the horses. Take the girl and send Shesta to the stables. Have Gatti accompany you to the channel. Kill the girl there and return to the base."

I thought I could hear the very air freeze behind me in Dalet and Guimel's collective shock at the words.

Even Miguel, who hid his emotions well, stared at me, clearly startled.

"You can't do that!" Guimel finally stuttered, voice taken by a rising horror. "She's just a baby!"

Miguel and I turned to stare at him. His eyes were wide with alarm, face pale, looking as though he believed he'd heard wrong. His eyes turned to me, pleading.

I couldn't stand the pitiful gaze.

I looked away, snorting. "She may be a child, but she's old enough to recognise who we are. Once the shock wears off, do you think she'll still keep quiet about this mess? 'I was raped, but the Dragonslayers saved me'? Can you imagine?" I laughed bitterly. "The insignia on his sword is known by everyone in this city, do you think it escaped the girl's attention? The Ashland House runs this city. Now one of their own lies dead while we were here on the very nighttheir kinsman was killed?"

"Who would believe her?" Dalet took a step forward, voice sharp and honed like a blade.

"Rumours like that spread like wildfire, and who's to say it won't reach the Ashland family? Do you think they'll let this go without investigating who was the perpetrator? Kill her now and there is no risk of them finding out."

Dalet shook his head, clearly not comprehending what I just said. "She's nothing but a lowly peasant. The words of a little beggar couldn't sway a house such as Ashland to anything but contempt!"

"But the seeds of distrust would already be planted in those rumours! It's not a matter of who would believe the wench or not. Ashland is a proud and powerful family, one that could destroy you both if they even got wind of it. The Emperor would even allow it if it would please them!"

Guimel was shaking. "That's not a good enough reason! She's just a little girl! She didn't do anything to deserve this!"

"No, she didn't," I agreed, reining in my anger. "But she's become involved in something that shouldn't have happened. I can't risk her having us connected to the death of an Ashland son!"

They still didn't understand what I was trying to do, still too mired in whatever emotional web the girl caught them in. I never had anyone challenge my orders. I wanted very badly to hit them, but I knew it would do nothing except send them over the edge and, though it stung to admit it, I didn't know what they would do, but I did know what they were capable of. They were potentially dangerous in their mental states. Even Miguel realised it and discreetly took a step closer to me, hand on hilt, ready to defend me if needed. Guimel was too distraught to notice, but Dalet did. His eyes blazed in anger at Miguel, but it didn't even seem to faze Miguel. The look clearly said _Traitor_.

Guimel was treacherously close to unsheathing his blade. "You can't do this!"

"Yes, I can," I replied coldly. "And I am."

"No!"

Miguel was dangerously tense beside me, a coil ready to spring at the hostility.

I steeled my voice. "We need no witnesses. She _must_ die. Otherwise it puts all the Dragonslayers under jeopardy. Don't you fucking understand that?"

"Even you aren't so cold-hearted as to kill an innocent child!" Dalet wasn't too far behind Guimel, and I feared his words were true. "There must be another way!"

"There is no other way!" I roared, patience fracturing. "Would you rather have me take her to the Sorcerers?! Would you have me condemn her to such a life to ensure her silence?! Which is worse? Choose! I'll gladly send her to _them_ if it would satisfy you!"

Their mouths clamped shut in shock, eyes wide at the words.

"Go, Lavariel," I snapped. "Don't make me repeat my orders."

His eyes riveted, as though unwilling to look away from Guimel and Dalet. He relaxed marginally when their hands left their swords, heads lowering in defeat.

"Miguel," I growled warningly.

Miguel studied my face for a moment, and I wondered if my thoughts were visible on my face, before he averted his eyes at my glare. "Yes, sir," Miguel bowed slightly and left, following where Shesta had gone only minutes before.

I turned back to my two remaining Slayers, glowering with challenge, but they wouldn't even look at me.

_They almost attacked me_. The thought was clear. _They were willing to challenge me over the life of a girl they don't even know. Me_.

I wanted, for one hysterical and livid moment, to _hurt_ them. I wanted them to suffer-- in a fundamental way that didn't include physical pain.

"You could save her, you know," I watched them stiffen at the words. "Just as you had tonight. But you would have to get through me and kill the others to do it. Is she worth it?"

I relished the look of distress that flashed across their faces. I wanted more of that.

"Are you so righteous now, that you would challenge my judgement, my decisions? I would have you both stripped of your rank and killed to have the _gall_ to risk the lives of your unit. You may not think much of us, but we consider both of you as our blood, our brothers, and I can't even _trust_ you to put aside your petty emotions for _their_ safety."

I could see how the words effected them, cutting them a little deeper each time. I wanted them to _bleed_ until there was nothing left but desolation.

"The Emperor would crucify all of us for the enjoyment of the Ashland House and replace us like we never even existed, because we mean _nothing_ to the Empire if we can't fight and bleed and die for it. Do you know why? Because unlike you two, we know what _loyalty_ is. We live and breathe and sacrifice for it. We would all die with you willingly and without question, because that's what _devotion_ is."

"Master Dilandau," Dalet whispered, eyes dark with some emotion I couldn't define.

I didn't want to hear it.

"I would rather die than betray either of you. And this... this is how you repay me?!"

"Master Dilandau!" Guimel was suddenly on his knees, eyes suspiciously bright with some terrible emotion.

Dalet followed suit, looking desolate and aggrieved, and trembled before me, so ashamed that he couldn't even glance up at me.

"Forgive us, Master Dilandau!"

I revelled in their agony, drank it in and savoured it like a fine wine. It wasn't enough. It only added to their repulsion.

I turned away, unable to look at them anymore.

"Is she worth it?" I asked quietly this time, unexpectedly feeling exhausted. "Is she worth the lives of your brothers?"

"No, Master Dilandau!"

"Forgive us, Master Dilandau, it will never happen again!"

I couldn't be near them anymore. They made me sick. I wanted to ride away from this place and bury the memory of this night.

"Do you still think of yourselves as heroes?"

There was no answer to that as I walked out the door.


End file.
